


The Birth and Banishment of Leonard the Ghost

by reflectionsofalex



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a Little Shit, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Humor, Nobody is Safe, Outrageous Domestic Undertones in Which Crowley and Aziraphale Cohabitate, Scandalous Romantic Subplot in Which Crowley and Aziraphale Kiss, Slice of Life, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), everyone gets pranked on, for like one paragraph but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-23 17:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reflectionsofalex/pseuds/reflectionsofalex
Summary: The bookshop is haunted. Crowley enlists the help of professionals.





	1. The Birthing

Crowley was sitting glumly on the usual bench at St. James’ when they walked by. There were no assignments from Hell, no contact at all really, and as nice as that had been, he was terribly, painfully bored. He had taken to spending this newfound free time by pestering Aziraphale (read: asking him on lunch dates, going to the theatre, walking the streets of London hand-in-hand), but the angel had left Crowley alone for the afternoon.

He had some appointment with a rare books seller--one who actually _sold_ their books--and would be gone for most of the day. Crowley was definitely not petulant about it, not at all.

Sure, the two of them had gone much longer without seeing each other, but things were different now, and he was coming to the unwanted realisation that he didn’t like being alone.

Like any self-respecting demon with a day to themselves and a bout of introspection to avoid, Crowley set about sewing threads of evil into the world. All he needed was a duck pie from the grocer’s.

The plan was to introduce the ducks at St. James’ to the taste of their brethren, toss chunks of pie into their waiting beaks. This would awaken a hunger in them that would lead to civil war, allowing the survivors to breed a new race of cannibalistic ducks. It was absolutely brilliant.

That was the plan, at least, but Crowley hadn’t taken into account that this would of course require the birds to actually eat each other. As good as the idea had seemed, he suddenly wasn’t quite sure that was something he wanted to witness. Plus, he thought ruefully, Aziraphale would probably make that stupid face when he found out, the one where his lips tightened and his nostrils flared. Crowley really didn’t like that look.

It was then, just as the claws of boredom began sinking in once again and his slouching became even more pronounced, that they strolled past.

The two young men--Americans, if their accents were anything to go by--spoke animatedly to each other, gesticulating as they went. On any other day they would have been ignored. They would have been today, too, if it weren’t for a snippet of conversation that managed to snag Crowley’s attention.

“-telling you, this city is a hotspot for spirits. All these old buildings? Ghosts everywhere, man.”

Well. That sounded promising.

Crowley jumped off the bench and strode after them, leaving the pie behind. There was potential here, and it would be a right shame to let it go to waste.

“Excuse me,” he drawled, pleased when the two visibly startled at his words, “sorry for the intrusion, but I couldn’t help but overhear talk of…” he leaned in, lowering his voice. “Ghosts?”

They glanced at each other, then back at Crowley. “That depends,” the taller one said cautiously. “Are you interested in ghosts?”

Crowley smiled wickedly. “Very interested.”

* * *

He brought his new acquaintances to the bookshop, learning more about them on the way. Nathan and James were visiting from California, and they were here on business. 

“We’re sort of entrepreneurs,” Nathan had been proud to say, “and we want to go international. You can learn all about what we do on our website.” He pulled a stack of business cards from his backpack and handed one over.

What they did, as it turned out, was ghost hunting. They were professionals. Crowley was thrilled.

The demon ushered them into the back room, making it clear that they were not to touch anything (somehow Aziraphale could always tell if a book had been miracled clean). The story had taken shape in his head, and it was beautiful.

“As I told you,” he began, taking Aziraphale’s armchair for himself, “my husband has run this bookshop for many years. He doesn’t like to admit it, but there have always been… strange incidents, if you will, that happen here.”

Nathan and James listened intently, enraptured with the tale. “What kind of incidents, exactly?” Nathan asked quietly.

“Oh, all sorts. Books being knocked off shelves when nobody’s there, furniture moving on its own, the door slamming shut even if it’s propped open, sudden chills in the air…” Crowley trailed off, watching the excitement build on the others’ faces with glee. A twitch of his fingers sent the hatstand crashing to the ground.

The boys jumped at the noise, looking around wildly for what could have caused it. Crowley heaved a sigh.

“That’ll be Leonard, then. Wonderful timing, as usual.”

James frowned, turning back to his host. “Who’s Leonard?”

“Their name probably isn’t actually Leonard, that’s just what I’ve taken to calling them.”

“...Them?”

“Uh, our ghost. The one I just told you about. They’ve been haunting this place for ages and it’s gotten rather annoying,” Crowley explained.

“Wait, how many ghosts did you say you have?”

“Just the one. Probably. They are certainly a handful, though.”

The confusion only grew. “If there’s only one, why do you keep saying ‘them?’”

Crowley shrugged. “Leonard hasn’t indicated a preference towards any particular gender, and I find it’s always best not to assume.”

“Oh. Makes sense.”

The lights flickered once, then twice.

“Are they always this active?” Nathan asked, pushing up his glasses and resting his chin on one hand.

Crowley considered this. “Sometimes, yeah. Leonard seems to enjoy, erm, making an impression on new people. It really drives me up the wall some days.” He watched as his guests seemed to hold a conversation with only their eyes and a few complex microexpressions. It didn’t take long for them to reach a decision.

“Well, Mr…?”

“Just Anthony is fine.”

James nodded. “Anthony, then. It sounds like you and your husband have a pretty standard haunting on your hands. Nathan and I see this kind of thing all the time, and it would be our pleasure to cleanse your shop of supernatural entities.”

It took every bit of the restraint Crowley had developed over the past millennia to keep from laughing in utter delight. This was just too good.

Now for the most important part. “I would love to take you up on that, but I’m afraid it might be a bit more difficult than you’re thinking. You see, my husband doesn’t believe in Leonard, always blames their antics on the wind or the building being old. He thinks anything to do with ghosts is complete rubbish.”

“Don’t worry about it, Anthony,” Nathan soothed. “We’ve dealt with sceptics before; we can handle this. He’ll see the truth in no time.”

Oh he probably would, and not even God Herself could predict how he would react. The angel’s inner bastard showed itself sporadically enough that Crowley had no idea when it would reappear. It was all part of the fun.

“You underestimate just how stubborn he can be. If I tell my husband I’ve hired professionals to get rid of a ghost I’ll be sleeping on the couch for a week, and you lot will be out of a job.” The final nail of every successful temptation was the pause, the few seconds of silence before the offering. “Although, if he didn’t know about any of this…”

All he had to do was give a little prompting and let the blanks fill themselves. Nathan grinned. 

“A covert mission.”

“Exactly.”

“We could come in during the day and pretend to be customers,” James suggested. “Do our work when he isn’t paying attention to us.”

“And if you’re here…” Nathan looked pointedly at Crowley.

“I can distract him, help you guys out.”

“A man on the inside.”

Crowley stood and held his hand out. They shook. The contract was sealed.

“Right then. I trust you’ll be here tomorrow?” He led his new employees to the door, which was now repeatedly opening and closing. It conveniently stopped when he caught the handle, holding it open. Aziraphale would gush for days if he saw how polite Crowley was acting.

“Absolutely. You can count on us, Anthony.”

They left the bookshop with a renewed sense of duty. Crowley cackled as he wandered back to the couch, the hatstand righting itself with a wave of his hand. Forget cannibalistic ducks, this was just what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spellcheck suggested I change "Aziraphale" to "Paleographer"


	2. The Investigation

That morning saw Aziraphale walking down the steps to his shop with a yawn. Sleeping had never really interested him, but with Crowley’s insistence on partaking in the activity he had grown rather used to it of late. 

All he wanted to do was fetch a cup of tea and head back upstairs to read in bed, and possibly card his fingers through the hair of a certain sleepy demon. Instead, he was presented with two eager faces peering into his shop. 

Bugger.

Aziraphale had half a mind (most of a mind, actually) to turn around immediately and retreat to the bedroom. It was far too early for customers, especially a pair that appeared so keen. He was still an angel, though, no matter what Heaven might have one believe, and British to boot. Feigning courtesy wasn’t so much a daily decision as an inescapable requirement ingrained into his very nature.

Setting his shoulders with a sigh, Aziraphale miracled himself some proper clothing and went to the front door. The need to act amiable was something he appreciated in himself, but the angel had no qualms about indulging in a bit of tetchiness if that’s what it came down to. 

As the door swung open he plastered on a tight smile. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

To his utter dismay, it seemed he could, in fact, help them. 

“Are you A.Z. Fell?”

American tourists, how lovely. “Ah, yes. Mr. Fell is just fine.” He reluctantly stood aside, allowing the two to enter his shop. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” 

“Mm, not really. We just wanted to look around, if that’s alright with you?”

From the determination on his face, Aziraphale figured they planned to look around no matter how he felt about it. He gritted his teeth.

“Literature fans, are you?”

“Huge literature fans, totally. Literature is the best.” He held out his hand. “I’m James, this is Nathan. We’ve been looking forward to visiting your shop.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “Er, you have?”

“Of course we have!” Nathan beamed at him. “We’ve heard so many great things about it, and the Yelp reviews all give you five stars!”

He felt completely lost. Was this young man saying his bookshop was receiving… publicity? Positive publicity? _His_ bookshop?

“...Yelp?”

“Yeah, you’ve got tons of good ratings.”

“Your shop is very popular, Mr. Fell,” James chimed in.

Almighty give him strength.

It was at that moment that Crowley sauntered into the room, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if his prayer had been answered or spat upon.

Crowley, who had been lying awake for hours and was almost buzzing with anticipation, walked over to Aziraphale and pretended he hadn’t been listening to the whole exchange from the stairwell.

“Opening up early today, are we angel?” He draped a spindly arm around his companion, grinning at the subsequent huff of annoyance.

Nathan coughed and stared directly at Crowley, subtly gesturing at the shelves of books with his entire body.

The demon pressed a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s temple, well-versed in the art of redirecting attention (recently more and more of said redirections were executed through spontaneous displays of affection, a strategy approved of by both parties). 

“Tea?” Crowley held out his arm.

After a few seconds of internal debate Aziraphale spared his customers one last (quite scathing) glance, then let himself be guided to the kettle. James and Nathan immediately moved deeper into the store.

Admirably enough, neither so much as squeaked when a book laying on a nearby table suddenly flipped open.

* * *

“I must say I’m tempted to close for the day.”

The American tourists had been wandering the store for almost an hour, and Aziraphale was fast approaching the border between frosty politeness and righteous irritation. 

Crowley rolled his eyes from where he had sprawled out on the counter. It was far too small for a person-sized being to lie on, even after moving the register, but Crowley had always valued being a minor inconvenience over being comfortable. 

“Dunno what you’re so worked up about. Not like they’re buying anything.” With a twitch of his little finger the heavy curtains nearest the shop’s only customers fluttered about. The window was closed.

“I don’t know why they feel the need to putter about, is all. This isn’t a bloody museum.” So, so close to stepping over that border.

Lifting his head just enough to be seen, Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You putter about all the time.”

“It’s _my_ bookshop! I’m allowed to putter!” Aziraphale punctuated the statement by aggressively folding his (unneeded, but nifty) reading glasses. “Besides, apparently I have been receiving a good amount of favourable reviews,” he pouted.

Crowley pouted back. “Truly horrible, angel. Dreadful news.” Also completely untrue--even if A.Z. Fell & Co. was on Yelp, and it wasn’t, no one who had experienced the owner’s customer service would leave a positive review.

At the glower he received, Crowley sat up and leaned in close, meeting Aziraphale’s lips with his own. The angel’s agitation seemed to melt away, at least on the surface, as he sank into the gentle touch. The moment was cut short when a loud crash rang through the air. 

They both jumped in surprise. Agitated once more, Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and strode off in the direction of the noise, Crowley following close behind. He hadn’t caused this crash--at least, he was pretty sure he hadn’t. It was embarrassingly easy to forget himself when he was enveloped in so much love.

Rounding a corner to the Christopher Marlowe section revealed two sheepish undercover ghost hunters and a tripod that appeared to have fallen over. James was kneeling next to it with a camcorder. He quickly covered the strip of masking tape on which the word “evidence” was written, presumably with a sharpie.

“Uh-”

“We were just-”

“This isn’t-”

“Really-”

Aziraphale held up a hand and silenced them with a look that Crowley was very thankful not to be on the receiving end of. He would be later, for sure, but he’d burn that bridge when he got to it.

“What,” the angel began, tone low and menacing, “the _hell_ is going on?” When they both opened their mouths once again, he pointed at Nathan. “You. Talk, before I kick you out of my shop.”

Nathan’s eyes were blown wide. “I-I’m really sorry, Mr. Fell, we didn’t mean to, uh, knock it down. We were just, um, well, the thing is…” he trailed off, looking helplessly at James.

Damn it, did Crowley have to do everything himself? Was this whole scheme more trouble than it was worth? 

Nah. It was absolutely worth it.

“Nice camera you’ve got there. You guys vloggers or something?”

Two sets of shoulders sagged in relief. “Yes!” cried Nathan. “Yes, we’re vloggers! And we’re vlogging! Just making a vlog, that’s all.”

“What on Earth are you going on about?” Aziraphale looked to Crowley for an explanation, and he was happy to oblige. 

“‘S just an internet thing, angel. A bit like a diary, only you film stuff throughout the day. A video blog. Vlog.”

It was obvious that Aziraphale didn’t quite understand, but his eyes had lost some of their suspicion. “There will be none of this ‘vlogging’ in my bookshop, please.” 

Before he could scold further, the bell above the door rang. Aziraphale was dangerously close to cursing.

“If you’ll excuse me.” 

Crowley waited until he was out of earshot before rounding on the others.

“You can’t just go knocking things around,” he hissed. “You won't be able to kick Leonard out of this place if you’re kicked out first.” 

James had the sense to look contrite. “Sorry man,” he said quietly. “Honest accident. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not. What were you even doing?”

A camcorder was thrust into Crowley’s face. “Thermal imaging.”

“Why?”

“To detect heat signatures.” 

Crowley squinted at the device. “Aren’t ghosts supposed to be cold?”

“Common misconception,” Nathan explained. “Thermal imaging lets us look at the infrared radiation that…”

Whatever he had to say was probably most interesting, but Crowley didn’t stick around long enough to hear it. He walked away, nudging a couple of books off the shelf with a thought. Aziraphale was too busy arguing with his newest customer to register the dull thud they made, and the sudden frenzied whispering put a smile on Crowley’s face.

The day carried on in a similar fashion. Leonard’s antics seemed to get rowdier as the hours drifted by, each ghostly deed conveniently occurring under Aziraphale’s radar. The angel himself was growing increasingly frustrated, but Crowley was successful in keeping him preoccupied.

He was rather proud of it, to be honest. Normally Aziraphale would never allow someone to remain in his shop this long, but Crowley was incredibly capable when it came to counter-irritations. 

Sometime around noon Nathan nervously approached Aziraphale, cell phone in hand. “I just wanted to let you know that I, um, need to call my grandparent.”

“Then call them, for Heaven’s sake. I don’t see why you feel the need to tell me about it.”

“I wanted to warn you because sometimes I have to be loud when I talk to them. They’re hard of hearing. Also they have Alzheimer’s so I might have to, you know, remind them who I am and stuff.”

Aziraphale softened. “Oh, the poor dear. It’s very good of you to keep in contact with them.” He considered asking that the call be made outside, but it felt like the wrong thing to do. 

Nathan scratched the back of his head. “Heh, I try. I’ll just… go do that now.”

He walked away, ducking behind a shelf so that he was hidden from view. Aziraphale turned back to his computer. These types of conversations were personal, he reasoned, and Nathan likely wanted some privacy.

“LEONARD. I ADDRESS YOU NOW.”

Or maybe privacy wasn’t all that important in this case. Was it common practice for Americans to call their grandparents by their first name?

“ARE YOU PRESENT? CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Aziraphale looked around for Crowley, figuring he would know more about customs across the pond. He was nowhere to be seen.

“MY NAME IS NATHAN. I SEEK NO CONFLICT.”

The demon must have nipped out for some ruckus-causing. Hell hadn’t yet moved to end their estrangement, but Earthly wiles wouldn’t just happen on their own (they would, actually, as Aziraphale liked to point out, but Crowley insisted that certain discord and tumult needed his personal touch).

“I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, LEONARD. I KNOW YOU’RE LISTENING.”

There was, in fact, a healthy amount of wiling being done by the serpent of Eden, he just hadn’t left the bookstore to do it. Currently he was slithering unseen along a shelf, putting his snake form--it had been upgraded, well, downgraded really, from the colossal creature that had tempted Eve to its current, more acceptable size--to good use. He hissed just loud enough for someone very close by to hear.

Nathan’s jaw dropped. Camera rolling, James spun around, frantically searching for the source of the noise.

“Is that-” Nathan cleared his throat. “IS THAT YOU?”

There was another quiet hiss. On the other side of the store an angel tried in vain to focus on his taxes.

“EXCELLENT. I RESPECTFULLY REQUEST THAT YOU LEAVE THIS PLACE. I DO NOT KNOW YOUR INTENTIONS, BUT YOUR GHO- um, I mean, GRANDPARENTLY HABITS, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, ARE ANNOYING THE LIVING… SHIT, THE LIVING SHIT, OUT OF EVERYONE. IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO MOVE ON. DEPART NOW, AND NEVER COME BACK.”

Aziraphale miracled his tea into vodka and downed it in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most ridiculous thing I've written in a while and also probably the shittiest. Bah humbug.


	3. The Banishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion.

It all came to a head at around three in the afternoon, when Aziraphale escaped his nuisance of a best friend’s pull and went to check that nothing had been mucked up.

Unfortunately, many things had been mucked up, and Crowley had never been very good at cleaning up after himself.

Crowley nearly ran into Aziraphale, who had stopped abruptly and was staring aghast at the scene before him. Out of sight from the front of the bookshop, everything was a mess. Rugs were bunched up, curtains had fallen to the ground, lampshades were smoking, and worst of all, books were strewn across the floor. Only a few, and none that were too valuable (because contrary to popular belief Crowley did not actually have a death wish), but the point remained that Aziraphale valued all of his books and part of his collection had been tossed about.

The angel looked very much like he should be wielding a flaming sword.

Nathan and James were struggling to untie their shoelaces, which had been knotted together. They were having little success. After allowing himself a moment to savour their undignified flailing, Crowley undid the laces with a flick of his hand.

As they stood and dusted themselves off, Crowley nonchalantly examined a partially smashed light bulb that he found on a nearby shelf.

“Explain.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, cold, and radiated fury.

“We didn’t do this!” James looked desperately at Crowley, who ignored him. “Anthony, this is more serious than we thought. We have to tell him.”

Crowley flinched when the angel whirled on him. “So you’re in league with these miscreants? I should have known!”

“About that, well, you see-”

“Mr. Fell, I know you’re an unbeliever, but the evidence is all around us. You and your husband are in danger, and you won’t be safe until Leonard is permanently banished.” 

Turning back towards Nathan, the anger written across Aziraphale’s face morphed into bafflement. “I-Wh-You want to banish your grandparent?”

“No! We want to banish the deranged spirit haunting your bookshop!”

Most people who met Aziraphale assumed he was a quiet man with no grasp on the concept of sarcasm. Most people also did not know that Aziraphale had been palling around with a connoisseur of sarcasm for over 6,000 years and by association was entirely fluent. 

He could detect sarcasm as well as he could dish it out, and he was very good at dishing. There was no trace of irony, no hint of mockery on this human’s tongue. The fool believed every word, and the previously jumbled pieces slid into place.

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to his customers, then to his demon, then back. He knew exactly what was going on.

It was actually quite humorous, and he almost wanted to let the true guilty party off the hook. He would, eventually, but Crowley had allowed Aziraphale’s books to become collateral damage. Such audacity could not go without reprimand. 

The light bulb in Crowley’s hand shattered.

“Holy fuck!” said James, but no one heard him over the sound of Nathan’s shriek. 

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale tutted, “it seems my clumsy husband has gone and broken a light bulb.” He pursed his lips.

Crowley yelped as an unseen force sent him flying into the ghost hunters, all three of them toppling to the floor (miraculously unharmed, not so much as a bruise, but it went unnoticed).

“So, so clumsy.” 

“Shit,” Nathan yelled, “Leonard’s pissed off!”

One demon and two humans scrambled to their feet. Aziraphale watched with indifference. 

“Don’t be silly, young man, ghosts aren’t real.” He had to raise his voice against the vaguely musty raging wind that the vaguely musty still air had turned into.

James gripped an end table, the gust threatening to knock him back down. “Are you kidding me?” he cried. “What do you call all this then?”

“Just your typical weather in England, no reason to fret.” The angel’s smile was nothing short of saccharine.

The air calmed. Crowley approached the angel as one might an angry snake, if the snake was the one doing the approaching and was not angry so much as grappling with abject terror.

“Ah, angel-” He cut himself off with an alarmed hiss, his body lifting off the ground. “Oh come on!”

“Goodness me, are you all right dear? You appear to be hovering.” Aziraphale did not look worried in the slightest.

Before Crowley could even open his mouth to respond a grainy slew of Satan knows what hit him in the face. In retrospect, it was a stroke of luck that his mouth had still been shut. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, wiping desperately at his skin.

“What the bloody heaven did you do that for? That stings!” He shuddered. It felt like someone had thrown tiny consecrated rocks at him.

Nathan and James, the latter armed with a recently emptied sack, stared in shock. Behind them Aziraphale winced in sympathy. He hadn’t intended to _drop_ Crowley, and now it seemed he had just been assaulted with blessed salt. At least that might teach the insufferable twit a lesson.

“Leonard’s not a ghost…” Nathan trailed off.

“They’re a poltergeist, and now they’ve possessed Anthony,” James finished.

Feeling distinctly like he was approaching a head-on collision with his own demonic fomenting, Crowley held up placating hands. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, yeah? I can assure you, I am not possessed. Why would you even think that?” He laughed nervously.

The ghost hunters shared a look. 

“That salt was blessed,” James said slowly, “and it should only have driven Leonard away from you. It shouldn’t have given you a face rash.”

“I have eczema!” Crowley was starting to feel a little miffed. He pointed an accusing finger at Aziraphale. “Besides, he’s the one who’s been acting weird! Wasn’t even bothered by all this commotion, didn’t even care! If anyone’s possessed, it’s him!”

Aziraphale looked offended.

“Nice try, Leonard, but that’s exactly what a possessed person would say,” said James, growing more sure of himself with each passing second.

“Yeah,” Nathan added, “the _real_ Anthony would never sell out his husband!”

Crowley gaped at them. “How would you know?! I met you yesterday! I’d sell him out in a heartbeat!”

A trio of dead Nazis and a pigeon who had noticed two people swap bodies on a park bench begged to differ. So would the only angel on Earth, but at the moment he was too busy observing (read as: relishing in) a remarkable case of self-thwarting.

“Don’t listen to him, Mr. Fell. That’s 100% Leonard talking.” Nathan had the expression of someone pleading with someone else to believe in ghosts for their own sake.

Aziraphale cocked his head, considering. “You know, I’m beginning to think all this ghost business may not be a complete load of poppycock after all. My dearest, most loving husband would never say such a thing. Am I correct in assuming you brave lads are experts in supernatural phenomena such as this?”

“Yes sir, we’re professionals.”

“Excellent. Might you have any suggestions as to how we could go about removing this poltergeist’s hold over my poor, helpless darling?”

It was Crowley’s turn to look offended. He scowled. Sure, the bookshop had gotten a tad messy, but this was exceedingly harsh.

“The only way to save him,” Nathan said solemnly, “is an exorcism. We need to force Leonard out of his body.”

Aziraphale blanched. “Er, come to think of it, Cr-Anthony would absolutely sell me out. And, and if he _is_ possessed, well, it would be terribly rude to just oust Leonard like that.”

“I know it’s scary, and I’m sorry it had to come to this.” Nathan patted the angel’s hand in sympathy. “But if we don’t banish them, he’s not going to survive. Poltergeists drain the life energy out of their host until there’s nothing left.”

Without taking his eyes off Crowley, James reached into his backpack. “If you let us draw a binding sigil on the ground, we can do this now. We have everything we need--candles, a Bible, holy water-”

He didn’t have the chance to finish. At the mention of holy water, Aziraphale’s wings unfurled into the mortal plane. Bright white light poured from his entire being. A fiercely glowing halo released showers of ethereal ember from above his head. Hundreds of unblinking eyes bore into the souls of all who dared to witness the eldritch handiwork of the Almighty.

**“Begone.”** The voice exuded raw power. 

Nathan and James gawked, horrified. They were frozen in place.

**“Begone,”** the voice repeated, **“or face the wrath of a thousand midnight suns.”**

Faces ashen and trousers damp, two professional ghost hunters raced for the door, tripping over their feet. They ran from the bookshop, not knowing why they were running but vowing nonetheless never to return to London.

Inside the bookshop, the Principality of the Eastern Gate willed his wings to disappear and stretched his arms with a satisfied hum. Crowley stared at him, jaw slack. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, that was nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“You could’ve just wiped their memories.” Crowley gazed in wonder.

“Oh, I did, not to worry. They won’t remember a thing.”

“Angel.”

He blushed. “Quit looking at me like that, it was just a bit of fun. I’m still quite cross with you.”

A quick demonic glare and the bookshop, knowing what was good for it, was right again. A gentle angelic breeze and the salt, which had better things to do anyway, was sent packing. Cross or not, Aziraphale wasn’t going to just let blessed items remain so perilously scattered about.

“You’re such a bastard. I love you so much.”

Aziraphale removed those pesky sunglasses and looked Crowley in the eye. “I love you too. You’re sleeping on the sofa tonight.” He tucked the sunglasses into his jacket pocket and calmly walked up the stairs.

He didn’t relent, not even when Crowley cooked an apology dinner. His books were off limits, period, and the consequences for breaking that rule were unwavering.

If, however, a lonely demon crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning, and if a lonely angel pretended to be asleep when he shifted closer, well, nobody had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An angel of the Lord appeared then, and he said unto them, "BEGONE, T H O T"


End file.
